The first time I visited the House of Bijan, I had no idea it was a menswear-only boutique. While strolling down Rodeo Drive on my way to lunch with a friend, I’d spotted a gorgeous handbag in the shop’s window that seemed to be calling my name. My friend refused to stop, but I begged and pleaded. Though the shop is by-appointment-only, he and I were granted entry. As we stepped inside, both of us gasped.

The interior design of the store is breathtaking, with walls of sunflower yellow and enormous bouquets of fresh flowers, each strategically placed to adorn a display of clothing of the same color. There is a sweeping staircase, which splits toward the bottom, the two sides meeting at a landing over which hangs an impressive chandelier crafted from over a thousand miniature bottles of their classic eponymous perfume. Hanging on a far wall is an original Fernando Botero painting titled, quite appropriately for this setting, “The Rich.”

The handbag I’d seen in the window was even more exquisite up close, with an alligator leather exterior and kangaroo leather interior, one of a limited edition of 25. There were a couple of other sizes and colors on hand, all so deliciously tempting, but since I know how restless men can become while waiting for women to mull over the slightest details of items they’re purchasing, I didn’t linger on my decision. I took the orange one and called it a day.

I turned to tell my friend I was done, but he was off in another part of the shop, surrounded by an array of suits and jackets. I watched him try on a few, posing in front of the mirror, turning this way and that as he tried to determine if it was a keeper. It occurred to me to try on a few things myself. One of the individuals attending to my friend was an elegant and gently persuasive woman by the name of Manijeh Messa. I later learned she is the general manager and has been at the boutique since 1976. I asked Madame Manijeh if she could show me a few outfits.

“We design clothing exclusively for men,” she informed me. “Would you like a cup of tea while you wait?”

While I wait?

I’d never, in my entire life, waited for a man to shop for clothing. But, having been relegated to a place in stores that most men are familiar with, the corner with the couch and magazines, wait I did. I walked around a bit, studying the framed photographs of past and current clients: Michael Jordan, Saudi King Salman bin Abdulaziz al Saud, Bo Derek (sans cornrows), Muhammad Ali, Mexican pop star Cristian Castro. There was a photograph of all the previous U.S. presidents standing together, from Jimmy Carter to Barack Obama (with the exception of Ronald Reagan though he, too, was a client). In the shop’s 41 years, the only U.S. president who has not been a client is Donald Trump, who prefers to wear his own brand. My favorite photograph was of the Obamas at their first White House black-tie event, Barack in a black Bijan suit and bow tie.

During the course of one hour and the consumption of two cups of tea, I watched my friend, whom I’d only ever seen in dull browns and deep blues, become giddy with excitement while selecting ties of violet, lime green and tangerine. He was like the proverbial kid in a candy store, and his joy was infectious.

Perhaps that’s why I returned, alone, the following week to say hello to Madame Manijeh and to Nicolas Bijan, the handsome and debonair son of the late Bijan Pakzad. It was Pakzad who, along with his friend, real estate developer Dar Mahboubi, co-founded the boutique.

I wanted to see if I would experience that joy again. I suspected that it was as much a part of the boutique’s mission as anything else. I used to see the Bijan billboards often in my young adulthood. They featured the designer, his name written in bright colors. At least one part of his outfit – his tie, the lining of his jacket – contained a splash of the same color as his name; and he was always flashing his huge iconic smile (which he handed down to his son). Just a glance from the window of my raggedy-but-reliable Datsun, and I knew whatever Bijan was selling was beyond my paygrade. Back then I couldn’t afford to breathe the air in shops like his. Ah, but those billboards exuded a carefree contentment that I, who stressed over every dollar I earned and every cent I had to pay, found perplexing yet pleasing.

When I arrived that day, they received me warmly and again invited me to have a cup of tea. Because the boutique is, with only a few exceptions, strictly by appointment, the shopping experience is individualized. Rarely is there overlap between customers.

As I sipped my tea, I watched one customer attempt to pick out a belt from a rainbow of colors. He went back and forth, unable to decide: definitely the blue; no, no, the red; well, maybe the yellow. Finally, he decided to take them all. The next customer faced a similar dilemma with the ties, which are limited-edition, one of one or two.

All the clothing is rich with color – each piece a statement, bold but not loud. I didn’t know any of the men who came in that day, yet I noticed how, like my friend, they surrendered the demeanor of seriousness with which they’d entered for the sheer delight this shopping experience was offering.

And never have I seen men so engaged and euphoric while shopping for something other than electronics and cars, sports or barbecue paraphernalia. It’s a generalization, I know; but if a survey of the facial expressions and general mood of adults were conducted at any mall in America, who do you think would rank as happier in that moment, men or women?

This makes the transformations I witness at the House of Bijan all the more remarkable. Once self-labeled “the most expensive store in the world,” it is unabashedly a shop for men of means, men who are also often bound to the expectations of others, especially when it comes to appearances. In the two years I’ve been visiting the shop, usually once every few weeks, I have found it comforting to know that these men are able to summon genuine excitement over something as simple as a pocket square. I have also, I’ll admit, envied the magic that happens when they’re there, so much so I suddenly found myself wanting to have a suit, but not just any suit.

“Can your tailors make one for me?” I’ve asked Madame Manijeh several times.

“No,” has been her unwavering response to my desire to have something not intended for me. “Our clothing is for men.”

Vulnerability is a prerequisite for playfulness, and everyone needs a place where they can indulge that part of themselves, a place where they can leave the world, with all its stress and frustrations, at the door and treat themselves to something so beautiful it makes them deliriously happy. For House of Bijan customers, it’s stepping away from the ordinary, the gray pinstripe and the soft yellow paisley tie, to reveal a bit of who they really are, or wish to be, with chartreuse, crimson or indigo. For me, it’s being a part, however tangentially, of that process of liberation.

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